


Salvage

by thirty2flavors



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:28:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3298331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirty2flavors/pseuds/thirty2flavors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I think you should ease up on this case, Miller,” he says, a therapist and a bloody hypocrite rolled into one. // Set mid-2x05.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvage

 

“I think you should ease up on this case, Miller,” he says, a therapist and a bloody hypocrite rolled into one.

Like far too many other things in Ellie Miller’s life, in retrospect she should have seen it coming. After all, he’s gone nearly forty-eight hours without infuriating her. If anything, he’s just making up for lost time.

“ _What?_ ” she yelps, looking away from the road long enough to shoot him a withering stare. “‘Ease up’? What the hell do you mean by that?”

“You’re getting too invested.”

“ _Invested_?” The nerve of it almost leaves her speechless. “For Christ’s sake, you’re the one who pulled me into this mess, begging me for help, dragging me across the country, running a bloody sting operation out of my living room—”

He ignores all that. “You didn’t even sleep last night.” It sounds like an accusation.

“Neither did you,” she snaps. “I was at your house, you never came back. Where were you, anyway? Go off for a walk, come back the next morning. What’d you do all night? Kiss and make up with Claire?”

Hardy’s expression darkens. “I’m serious, Miller.”

“So am I,” she says, undeterred. “Think I ought to know if you’re shagging one of our prime suspects.”

She’s exploiting a weak spot, and she knows it, but she’s _angry—_ the ungrateful bastard—and besides, if he is—well, surely he’s not—

“Miller,” he growls again, and she decides she’s made her point.

“Seriously though,” she continues, “this is your first new lead in how long? You’re so desperate to finish this case, think you’d be happy I found something. Or do you not do ‘happy’?” Then it clicks. “Oh my God, are you jealous?”

The look on his face as he stares at her is uncomprehending. “Jealous?”

“Yeah,” Ellie explains. “You’re worried I’m gonna solve it first.”

Hardy scoffs. “No, I’m not.”

But Ellie shakes her head resolutely. “Your pet case, you want to be the one to solve it, is that it? That’s it, isn’t it?” She can just picture it: years spent obsessing over it, the case turning into a personal crusade, the key to redemption.

Not that she’s speaking from experience.

“Oh, don’t be stupid,” he snaps. “I want this case solved as much as anyone. I just don’t want—” He cuts off abruptly, turning away to scowl out the passenger window. “Never mind. Just… forget it.”

Ellie snorts, the feeling of vindication alone not enough for her to back off. “Oh, no you don’t, you’re not getting out of it that easy. Don’t want what, exactly?”

There’s no answer. Typical, she thinks. Retreat into silence the second he’s challenged, the self-involved—

“I just don’t want you to turn into me,” he admits.

Ellie’s anger dissipates in the face of surprise. “What?” she asks. “What does that mean?”

He stares out the window, arms folded, practically vibrating with regret at having ever started this conversation in the first place. “You know what it means,” he says quietly.

She snorts. “What, ‘don’t become a miserable sod’?”

“Yeah,” he says, without a trace of humour, and Ellie’s face falls.

It’s a rare moment of vulnerability for him, admitting that the gruff-and-gloomy lone wolf lifestyle he adheres to might be less than ideal. She’s never mistaken him for a happy man – who could, with that constant scowl on his face? – but there’s something unnerving about hearing him say it himself. A year ago, she’d have said it was his own damn fault, that you reap whatever you put out into the world, and if what you’re putting out is an irritable bastard, well…

But she knows first hand now what this sort of case, this job, can do to a person. The Sandbrook case files weren’t all she’d read during her all-nighter. There were internet articles too, Karen White’s dogged coverage of the trial and its collapse. Hardy appeared in one of the photos, clean-cut and cleanshaven and barely recognizable.

Ellie spends an awful lot of time these days not talking about the things that really bother her. What are the things he doesn’t talk about? How much of his prickliness is natural, and how much of it is a protective shell he’s built for himself? Buried under all that is a man who cares about people far more deeply than he would like to let on.

She knows, because somehow she’s found herself the focus of it. 

“My husband killed a child, my son wants nothing to do with me, and the whole town hates me,” she says frankly. “Don’t give yourself so much credit, if anything’s gonna turn me into a  miserable lump, it’s not gonna be working this case with you.” She pauses. “Besides, I don’t think I could pull off a beard.”

The shadow of something like a smile flickers across his face for a split second, bu when he turns to look at her again his face is serious. “I’m just—”

“Concerned. Yeah. I know. I’ve got it.”

It comes out harsher than she intends, and when he looks away again she feels the slightest bit guilty. She’s not exactly spoiled for friends; no point in pushing away the only one she’s got left, even if it is her infuriating boss with a dodgy ticker.

She tries again.

“Look, I know you’re trying to help,” she says, “and that’s… nice. Seriously. Not many people want anything to do with me these days.” The confession burns the back of her throat and she swallows around it. “But I don’t need your concern, I need you to solve this case with me. All right?”

Hardy gives a nod that is really more a twitch of the chin. “Yes, ma’am.”

But there’s that shadow of a smile again, and Ellie counts that as a win. She doesn’t tell him that if there’s anything stopping her transformation into total morose wanker, it’s the strange but comfortable relationship they’ve forged in the shipwreck that is both their lives. She still feels lost at sea, but at least there’s someone else in the lifeboat.  
  
Ellie Miller lets a moment or two tick by in companionable silence, then it’s time to get back to work. “So, Lisa’s phone in Portsmouth. What else do you do in Portsmouth, besides being in the Navy or looking at ships?”


End file.
